09-13-2016, 02:13 PM
Pollute had followed the sisters from the Playground to the Den. They had offered him something he’d been willing to take (who wouldn’t have?) and their search for recruitment led them to the Adoption Den. Children without homes seems like a great place to start; no tie-downs, no parents to hold them close, no fierce morals or religions to keep their feet to the ground. He stands beside the twins as they let out a call and his lips quip into an excited smile.
They come quicker than he anticipated. First a dark green girl who smells strongly of flowers (he nearly wrinkles his nose at the scent, but she’s pretty and so he resists) who voices a greeting and blessing related to the fairies. Pollute smiles then – it’s wide and carefree and reckless – and his head turns to seek out the Den’s fairy. He knows there is one here, a motherly fairy who guards and feed and warms the lost children. When his eyes catch on her, he nods deeply before returning his attention toward the gathering group.
There is another filly, with a peculiar gift. She has an extra eye, placed solidly in the middle of her forehead. Pollute avoids looking too much, but he can’t help it. She introduces herself as Giohde and he offers a smile in her direction as well. “I’m Pollute.” His voice is a bit deeper than the girls’ but still strung with the delicacy of prematurity. Give it another year, and he will certainly have a booming bass. “Beqanna has proven to all of us she will not be mistreated and the adults have done just that. They’re still doing it now.” He’s heard their complaining and screaming and bickering. Everyone has. “We hope Beqanna will grant us a home where we can do whatever we want without adults, where we can listen to the fairies and heed their knowledge, and where we can have the freedom to spread Beqanna’s words far and wide.”
He doesn’t say much more. He knows they feel it.
They come quicker than he anticipated. First a dark green girl who smells strongly of flowers (he nearly wrinkles his nose at the scent, but she’s pretty and so he resists) who voices a greeting and blessing related to the fairies. Pollute smiles then – it’s wide and carefree and reckless – and his head turns to seek out the Den’s fairy. He knows there is one here, a motherly fairy who guards and feed and warms the lost children. When his eyes catch on her, he nods deeply before returning his attention toward the gathering group.
There is another filly, with a peculiar gift. She has an extra eye, placed solidly in the middle of her forehead. Pollute avoids looking too much, but he can’t help it. She introduces herself as Giohde and he offers a smile in her direction as well. “I’m Pollute.” His voice is a bit deeper than the girls’ but still strung with the delicacy of prematurity. Give it another year, and he will certainly have a booming bass. “Beqanna has proven to all of us she will not be mistreated and the adults have done just that. They’re still doing it now.” He’s heard their complaining and screaming and bickering. Everyone has. “We hope Beqanna will grant us a home where we can do whatever we want without adults, where we can listen to the fairies and heed their knowledge, and where we can have the freedom to spread Beqanna’s words far and wide.”
He doesn’t say much more. He knows they feel it.
pollute.